


Feelings start to bleed through

by gooseontheloose



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kid Fic, M/M, Modern Setting, Mutual Pining, Roomates, Single Dad Jack Kelly, Single Parents, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24782929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooseontheloose/pseuds/gooseontheloose
Summary: Jack Kelly is cursed. With broken appliances, and a broken apartment, and a broken rental contract (because he swears on his mothers life, (god rest her soul), that he signed a year long lease), and now the inability to parent apparently. He doesn’t have much experience on the whole ‘role models’ front, and he hates the fact that he’s making it up as he goes along, but he figures that so long as he’s doing his best, that has to count for something.A curse becomes a blessing when Jack Kelly finds himself in need of a roommate, and Davey Jacobs rises to the occasion.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Sarah Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 18
Kudos: 43





	1. The Kelly Curse

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title is from Song for Me by Greer (incredible song)

When Jack Kelly stops to think about it for more than a moment, he thinks he might be cursed. Cursed with a broken washing machine so he has to haul his laundry two and a half blocks to a laundromat that isn’t already gentrified out of his price range. Cursed with an apartment that only gives hot water on Thursday mornings, from 6.30 to 7am. Cursed with a landlord who’s finally taken his resentment of Jack (and the consistently late rent cheques which have bounced more than once) out of the abstract with a threat of eviction. Cursed with a kid who won’t stop crying, even when her Da has done everything he can think of. Okay, the last one may be a bit of an exaggeration. Rosie is probably the only blessing in his cursed existence. But that doesn’t change the fact that the crying thing, the one she does at 3am (even though she’s five years old, and has school in the morning) has to stop. Jack Kelly may not be the most amazing father in the world (on account of being cursed and all), but what he lacks in resources, he makes up for in sheer effort. And he loves Rosie, he really does. She’s probably his best friend in the whole world. Scratch that, she is his best friend, but holy shit if that crying isn’t annoying. She’s only done it seven times so far, and every time, he’s at her side instantly. He doesn’t have far to move from where he sleeps (a mattress on the floor in the kitchen), to her bedroom (the only one in their crap apartment). It takes a full hour to calm her down, and she claims to be fine, even when he can tell (from the crying and repeatedly waking up at 3am part) that she isn’t. There’s no way to help her, because she won’t be helped, and the rest of the time she’s fine, well better than fine, seeing as she’s the cutest and smartest kid in the world.

So yeah, Jack Kelly is cursed. With broken appliances, and a broken apartment, and a broken rental contract (because he swears on his mothers life, (god rest her soul), that he signed a year long lease), and now the inability to parent apparently. He doesn’t have much experience on the whole ‘role models’ front, and he hates the fact that he’s making it up as he goes along, but he figures that so long as he’s doing his best, that has to count for something. 

The whole ‘doing his best’ thing doesn’t go down so well with the parents at Rosie’s school.   
He already sticks out like a sore thumb because of the whole, ‘being a decade and a half younger than most of them’ thing. That’s then coupled with the fact that he’s late every single day, without fail, and he’s never really dressed for the occasion (paint splattered overalls or a too small shirt buttoned up all wrong probably aren’t appropriate attire for any occasion, come to think of it). He knew off the bat that they weren’t exactly president of the Jack Kelly Fanclub. Some Hispanic kid (as he’s heard them call him more than once), dishevelled and unkempt, but still overconfident to the point of cockiness. No wonder he doesn’t fit in with the school drop off crowd.

One of them actually dares to speak to him today, which makes a change from the icy silence.   
He’s sauntering up to the gates, Rosie on his shoulders (because he’s not some monster who makes a kid walk the 10 blocks to school). Cigarette tucked behind his ear (because he’s stressed, and it’s his last one, and his pockets aren’t exactly the cleanest place in the world). Wearing probably his worst outfit to date, (this blue shirt which he’s intentionally buttoned wrong to distract from the fact that it’s about two sizes too tight, and these corduroy trousers that he definitely swiped from a goodwill at some point, but which don’t have any belt loops, and won’t stay up without this pair of fucking suspenders which he got as a gag gift once (because it’s laundry day, and between the oversleeping from the 3am screaming, and the fact that the cold water decided to stop working as well this morning, he hasn’t had time to do it yet).

He lets her down, doing this elaborate ‘tumble’ trick which she loves, and she squeals with delight, babbling something unintelligible to anyone but Jack Kelly’s ears. He reckons that the term ‘Spanglish’ might have been invented for his daughter. He even swears there’s a bit of Italian in there.

Summed up, it’s something along the lines of: “One day I’s gonna be an acrobat or trapeze artist, like in tha movie.” (The movie is the greatest Showman. Not a favourite of Jack’s, but they’ve watched it so many times that he knows all the words to even the dialogue by now).

“You’s gonna be tha prettiest gurl in tha circus by far.” He replies.   
Sometimes he wishes he could stretch his meagre wages to cover gymnastics lessons or something for her, but life doesn’t always work that way, and with his signature Jack Kelly confidence, coupled with the fact that he’s managed to patch into his neighbours Wi-Fi, well he’s pretty convinced that he can teach her anything. 

The one remaining Mum at the school gate gives him a strange look as she watches him what equates to manhandling Rosie. She loves it, but he sort of is just tossing her around, and that isn’t a great mark on the ‘responsible father’ sheet.

“Off you go now Ro, yer Da’s got’s to work! Tha beast awaits!” (Probably not the best idea to be teaching his five year old the mean nicknames he has for his boss).

She snarls back, in a convincing ‘beast’ impression, and he laughs: ruffling her hair, mussing it up even more than the ham-handed attempt at pigtails had already done. You would’ve thought that after five years, Jack would’ve been able to defeat a couple of hair bobbles and the unruly mop belonging to his own flesh and blood. 

When she’s gone, the mum turns to him.   
“You’re good with her.”  
It’s strange, to receive even a fraction of a compliment, compared to the contemptful looks and contemptful words he usually gets, even if she does sound slightly surprised at the revelation that he may in fact be good at interacting with his own child. Surprised or not, he knows it’s true. He is good with her. He is a good dad.

“Thank you ma’am”  
Because he may be a bit rough around the edges, but at least he still has his manners.

“How old are you?”  
And there it is. The judgement kicking in.

“Why’s that important den?”  
He plucks the cigarette from behind his ear, lighting it with slightly shaking fingers, but refusing to betray how much that simple question riles him up.

“You just look so young.”  
There’s this sad look in her eyes. Pity. He supposes that it’s probably better than the hatred that he usually gets, but for some reason it makes him more annoyed.

“Maybe I’s just aged well”

“You also look completely out of your depth”

She passes a judgemental eye, from his beat up sneakers, to his badly buttoned shirt, to his bruised knuckles (he didn’t start the fight, in all fairness), to the dark circles under his eyes, to the smoke billowing from his cigarette. And maybe he isn’t completely together, but so what? He’d like to see any other parents who turn their living room (slash kitchen slash bedroom) into the inside of a circus tent because that’s the obsession of the month. He’d like to see any other parent who works as hard as him, for as little compensation, and still comes home with a smile on their face. He’d like to see any other parent who’s never so much as raised their voice at their child (because he knows that’s how it starts, and he knows for a fact how much damage that sort of thing does). Maybe he’s out of his depth, but he’s fucking treading water like a champ (an apt metaphor for Jack ‘never learnt to swim’ Kelly).

“You’s look like you need to mind yer business.”

Her face contorts from patronising concern to something more mangled and ugly. He can already tell he’s going to be late for work this morning.   
“Don’t take that tone with me.”

“Don’t question my ability to parent” He retorts, quickly, in a tone which is somewhat childish (again, not great for the whole ‘Jack Kelly is a responsible adult and parent’ thing).

“I was just asking how old you are.”

“And how old are you?” She blanches, making this little affronted noise in the back of her throat. “Do you see how fucking irrelevant that is?”

“I hope you don’t use that kind of language around your daughter.”  
Because clearly swearing is much worse than questioning another person’s parenting skills based on nothing but their age and the fact that they’re having a bad day (after bad day, after bad day, after bad day).

“And what if I do?”  
She seems at a loss for words at that. Of course he doesn’t, he wants Rosie to be sweet and innocent as long as life will allow.

“No wonder you don’t know respect. You’re a child yourself.”  
_Those_ words no longer even make a dent.

“Yeah, I’s still young and good looking at least.” He replies, in his cheeriest tone, smiling widely. The world still hasn’t managed to take Jack’s self-confidence from him yet.   
Speaking of The World…  
“Sorry to cut this short ma’am, but duty calls.” He mocks tipping a cap, winking exuberantly at her, not missing the way her scowl clashes with her suddenly redded cheeks (Jack counts that as a win), and then sets off down the street, preparing to stew in his emotions for the next eight blocks. He may laugh it off with a smile and wink, but it’s still not an incredible start to the day, and he knows for a fact that it’s only going downhill from here. 

He’s late to work, which is in his opinion not a big deal. He gets the same amount done when he’s fifteen (okay, more like thirty) minutes late, versus when he’s on time. Pultizer doesn’t see it that way unfortunately, especially today, given the fact that his assistant Hannah is waiting at Jack’s desk.

“Hey Han.”   
He dumps his satchel (another goodwill find (steal). It’s not morally wrong to steal from charity when you’re basically a charity case yourself, right?), and smirks at her, enjoying the flush of colour that rises to her cheeks. It’s the second time he’s done that today. Nice to know that even sleep deprived, he’s still got it.

“Mr Pulitzer would like a word.”

“Good, ’s been a while since me and Joe’s had a chat anyways” and then he adds, more quietly, “He ain’t firing me or nothing right?”

Hannah sighs, and gives a half hearted shrug. “All I know is that he’s not happy.” (He was only joking about the ‘getting fired’ business, but that response from Hannah is not reassuring)

“Is he ever?”

“With you. He’s not happy with you.”

“Why not? I’s a model employee” (Okay. When he says it out loud, it sounds more like a joke, more like sarcasm than anything near to the truth.)   
Hannah lets off a soft, pitying laugh. What is it with these people and their pity?   
“I’m goin, I’m goin.” He says, as if Hannah’s rushing him in some way.

Fuck. He really can’t afford to get fired. Not with the impending eviction, and his lack of even a high school diploma. The starving artist gig is only fun when it isn’t literal. Not when Pulitzer, despite being a massive prick, gave him a job better than he technically deserved, payed him a bit above minimum wage ($1 above, to be precise), and actually let him leave at the designated time (because from what he’s heard, not everyone’s so lucky). How he manages to spend 40 hours drawing fucking cartoons is beyond him. And this is just fantastic, because now he’s thinking about this thing in past tense (because despite his posturing, Jack Kelly is a pessimist). Goodbye steady paycheck, goodbye no employee benefits because he’s somehow not technically hired there. Like he said, cursed. 

“Mr Kelly, nice of you to finally join me.”  
The man isn’t a beast in the classic sense. He isn’t great and hulking. But he has that glint in his eyes, of something rotten, and that expression on his face of practiced indifference. The combination makes Jack’s stomach turn.

“’ello der sir.”  
He pauses, mouth gummy with nerves.   
“What can I's help you’s with?”

“You’re late again Mr Kelly.”

“Sorry sir, school run.”

“I wasn’t aware you had a school aged child.”

“It ain’t a secret” (And if he was an actual employee, then Pulitzer would probably have it on record). He says it far more defensively than he should’ve done though.

“Well, if you can’t find a balance between home and work life, then maybe The World isn’t the best place for you.”   
Jack bristles at the barely lidded implication.

“I’s can find a balance just fine sir. And I’s sorry I’m late.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough I’m afraid Mr Kelly. I’m terminating your contract.”  
He doesn’t have a fucking contract. Because he isn’t ‘qualified’, and so the whole thing is as under the table as a reputable organisation like The World can get.

It takes a moment for the implication of those words to catch up with him.  
“Wait what? You’re firing me?”

“Yes I am Mr Kelly. Pack up your things and be gone please.”

“So no severance pay or nothing?”  
Pulitzer fixes him with this look which suggests that Jack is stupid for even asking that. Jack isn’t stupid. Jack is desperate.   
“I’ve got a little kid, Joe”, (Use of the first name to appeal to his human side, if he even has one), “Please, just throw me a bone here, two weeks notice or something.”

Pulitzer sighs in annoyance, as if Jack is asking for some menial thing, rather than the lifeline which he needs to keep his family afloat. “You know where the door is Mr Kelly. Please close it as you leave.”

And just like that, he’s jobless. 

He heads home, figuring that he should probably regroup, like emotionally, before he sets off on a job hunt, because he is well aware that he needs a job. This isn’t ‘no gaps in your resume’ shit, this is ‘I need to put food on the table and clothes on my child’s back’ shit.   
There’s a notice pinned to the door. An eviction notice. Fuck. That had all seemed so abstract, like a threat looming over his head to make sure that he payed rent on time, was a more quiet and respectful tenant. He pulls it from where it’s tacked up. A one week eviction notice, from a landlord who despises him (and his big mouth. Okay, maybe that one is his fault).   
And just like that, they’re almost homeless.

Jobless and homeless in the same day?   
Jack Kelly knew he was cursed. 


	2. Jacob's unravelling

David Jacobs doesn’t believe in God, at least not in the conventional way. He’s not sure he stopped, whether his loss of faith was a slow unravelling, or whether it happened all at once, when everything else in his life can crashing down. Sometimes he thinks that it might be nice to believe in a higher power. It would mean having someone to talk to at least. It’s not that there’s no one in his life. He has his parents and his siblings, and a few co-workers that he doesn’t mind: but they don’t really count, in the social scheme of things, and he finds himself alone, staring at the peeling plaster of his kitchen wall more often than he’d like to admit. He’s lonely. More than that, he’s alone, and he’s not sure what exactly to pin it on. He knows that a part of growing up is friends slipping away (not that he had many to begin with), but he didn’t think that he’d end up in his mid-20s, in a dingy apartment in New York, with next to no one left.

He’s also not sure when he started losing little pieces of himself. Every evening that he spends alone, it’s like the solitude is scraping parts of him away, and it won’t stop until he’s carved out and empty. He notices the things as they happen, or rather as they stop happening, but he can’t seem to stop it. He notices that he doesn’t triple knot his laces anymore, something which was a stupid habit anyway, and just resulted in time wasted trying to pick them undone. He notices that he doesn’t light the candles his mother got him anymore, which made the apartment smell less like mildew and more like summer. He notices that he doesn’t use the bookmark Les made him anymore, he just dog ears the pages, or stares at the same page of writing until his eyes go blurry. And maybe these things are all small, but it’s the little things that make up the tapestry of a person, and he’s coming unstitched at the seams.

The one thing that David Jacobs doesn’t see changing about himself is the fact that he hates accepting help. In fact, he hated his parents coddling, and their offers of warm words and kind vacant smiles so much: that he moved halfway across the country to get away. And he knows that it’s selfish and privileged of him to despise having parents who care. He knows that there’s plenty of people who aren’t as lucky as him, because his parents care, a lot, but it just feels like they care in all the wrong ways. And now he’s twenty-five years old, and he feels like it’s too much effort to even care at all, to even care the tiniest amount. He feels less and less like a person every day, and he thinks there might be something wrong with him, like in his brain, but David Jacobs is stubborn, and David Jacobs does not like accepting help, even help that he may have a medical need for.

His apartment is small, but sometimes it feels so empty, and he feel like he’s this tiny smudge, just another chip on the bathroom tiles. Working helps. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t leave the house to go to work. Probably go crazy a million times faster (and it’s just perfect that in his head, he’s already classing himself as crazy). He likes the noise at work. Even when the office is silent, and everyone is in deep concentration, just the sound of other people being, of them breathing and shifting and muttering, even that is enough to make him feel more normal, more grounded. Maybe he should get a pet or something. A pet is a hell of a lot easier to maintain than a friendship, and David thinks he might be too far gone down the rabbit hole for the whole ‘human-friends’ thing. He’s twenty five years old and he doesn’t know how to make friends. Isn’t that just the most pathetic thing in the world?

When he thinks about it as black and white (which is hard when David Jacobs exists exclusively in shades of grey), work is good, and being home alone with his thoughts is less good. He once heard someone talk about a moment so good, so perfect, that they wanted to bottle it and live in it forever. The moments Davey wants to capture are the times when he forgets, even for a millisecond, that there’s no one waiting for him at home, there’s no messages to reply to on his phone, there’s no evening or weekend plans. He just wants to live in those moments where he feels halfway normal. He doesn’t know how to make the plans and the messages and the not-empty apartment a reality, so he just exists in the fleeting moments where he forgets what his life really is.

Right before his break, when he’s slowly putting his coat on, soaking in the office sounds, he lives in one of those moments. And then, the charade is allowed to continue for a while longer, when a voice calls from across the office.

“Hey David!” Katherine hitches her skirt up slightly so that she can better run to catch up with him. He would’ve waited regardless. He takes what he can get, on the whole ‘people actually talking to him’ front. “You leaving for lunch?”

“Yeah, I was just going to grab something from the deli on the corner.”

“I’ll come with!”  
She then runs back across the office to grab her purse, skirt billowing behind her.

She’s easily the best journalist in the office, with these sharp, impactful pieces, forever poking at the status quo. She’s a natural at headline writing, a natural at article writing, and a natural at talking to people, at getting interviews and making friends. She’s so good that David thinks, in fact David knows, that she’s going to be in charge someday soon. Even he was the jealous type (and he isn’t, not anymore at least), he could never be jealous of Katherine. She’s too kind, and genuine, even if she’s sometimes a bit tactless, saying things without really thinking them through. David considers her a friend, and even if she doesn’t feel the same, their lunches out together happen often enough that they easily fall into a rhythm, they happen often enough that he doesn’t feel like his skin is crawling and itching and aching when he’s around her.

They have never spent time together outside of work, although that’s not from lack of trying on her part. She’s forever asking him to meals, and parties and meet-ups with her friends, and as far as David can tell, she has a lot of them. He just can’t shake that bitter feeling, that twisted voice inside that tells him that it’s a pity invite. That she doesn’t actually like him, and none of her friends would either, and if he did take her up on the offer, she’d realise how unlikable and boring he really is, and then he’d be back to eating lunch alone everyday, back to living in his bottled moments with nothing in between. Besides, it’s easier to be alone when you haven’t had a taste of what you’re missing out in years. He thinks that if he went to a party, or if he met with her friends (her _real_ friends), then it would just remind him of that gaping hole in his life, where people should be.

“So David, how have you been?”  
She walks much faster than him, despite the fact that he has considerably longer legs. She just has places to be, in a way that he does not.

“I’m fine thanks, you know, same old.”

And then Katherine launches into one of her stories. She’s a good storyteller, she has to be, in her line of work. David loves them, usually they’re funnier than they are insane. She has more drama in her life than one of the trashy reality shows that David plays as background noise so that he doesn’t completely lose it.

“So you know how me and my father don’t exactly see eye to eye?...”  
David remembers how surprised he was when he found out that Katherine’s dad was newspaper tycoon Joseph Pulitzer. He was honestly most surprised that she seemed to have chosen to try and make a name for herself of her own accord, rather than relying on nepotism. He was also surprised by how different they are, almost like polar opposites, upright traditionalist Pulitzer, and then, well… Katherine. The apple couldn’t have fallen further from the tree.

“Yeah…”

“Well me and him got in this massive argument on Friday night, like properly shouting and everything.”  
Davey resists the urge to ask her what the argument was about. People don’t like when you pry, and Katherine would’ve told him if she wanted him to know.

“And then I get this call from my friend Jack a few days ago, I’ve mentioned Jack haven’t I?”  
David vaguely recognises it. It stands out from her other friends because it’s an actual name, and not some strange childhood nickname that’s stuck for a little too long. He settles for a shrug.   
“Well anyway, Jack calls me. When I worked with my Dad, I got Jack this job doing like the political cartoons at the paper right? And coincidentally, on the Monday after this massive row with Dad, he’s just gone and fired Jack, out of the blue, no reason, no notice, no pay, nothing.”

“That’s awful!” says David, because it is. He then feels a slight flush rising to his cheeks, because it feels like such an obtuse response. Katherine either doesn’t mind, or doesn’t even notice.

“I know! And when I went and begged for Jack’s job back, he didn’t even let me into the office. He’s acting like a child… I mean really?!”

“Is your friend going to be okay?”

“I think so! He’s pretty tough…” she trails off, chewing at her lip, obviously more concerned for this ‘Jack’ than she originally let on.   
“Well, he’s actually not really got anywhere to live at the moment, he’s getting evicted, because he’s got the worst luck in world. Have I told you about that? I reckon I have… he says he’s cursed.” She’s talking so quickly that David really has to pay attention to understand her.   
“Like when he was 15, he fell down the stairs and broke his arm, his ribs, his leg and his collarbone somehow… ” She seems to be lost in thought for a moment, eyes flickering to meet David’s, and then flicking away.   
“I’m just worried about him, you know, he won’t let us help him, because he’s a stubborn bastard, too proud for his own good. I’ve offered, Spot and Race offered, hell even Specs offered, and the only reason the others didn’t is because he turned all of us down. He’s got this weird like independence complex.”  
David knows what it’s like to not want other people’s help, especially when it feels more like charity, but he doesn’t put it into words. He knows by now that it’s better just nod, offering short words of comfort when she goes to draw a breath. When she gets like this, she needs an audience, not a conversation.   
“I mean would it really be that bad just to stay with one of us for a month or something, until he gets himself back together, and maybe saves enough to move into a less crap apartment? Just a month. What’s a month in the grand scheme of things?”

David finds himself speaking, which he doesn’t do so often, especially not when Katherine goes on one of her tirades, and bulldozes the conversation. It’s like there’s a gap, a wire that’s come loose between his brain and his mouth, because he finds himself saying, in this careful voice.   
“I’ve got a spare room at my apartment?”

And it’s not because Sarah keeps insisting that he needs a roommate. She has three, where she lives in San Francisco, and she always says that she may not love them, but at least they keep things interesting (and she calls him boring as often as she can). It’s not because this lonely feeling is starting to get endemic, and he thinks he might actually properly lose his mind some day soon. It’s not because he’s almost forgotten how to interact with people, how to talk to people, and he’d maybe like the refresher course. It’s not any of that. It’s because Katherine, his friend Katherine, is in need of help, and he can offer help. And he wants to help, he needs to help. He needs to feel useful and human again.

“David”, Katherine’s voice is slightly strained, “That’s sweet of you, but Jack is a lot, trust me, and I’m pretty sure that no guy in his mid-20s wants to live with a five year old.”

Katherine really isn’t advertising this ‘Jack’ fellow very well. He’s got an independence complex, he’s unlucky to the point of ridiculousness, he’s a lot to handle, and apparently he’s also immature, he must be, given that she just described him as a five year old.

“I want to help” he replies stubbornly. He’s hyped this up so much in his head that he’s convinced that he needs it.

She fixes him with this long, hard stare.   
“I’ll talk to him about it.” She pauses, reaching over to rest her hand on top of his, “Thank you Dave, this is really sweet of you.”

It takes David a long sad moment to realise that it’s the first time in a very long time that another person has touched him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and let me know that ya think!!!!


	3. Independence complex

If Jack Kelly is good at one thing (besides being an incredible, showstopping father), it’s compartmentalising. He’s a messy person (not in a gross way, more in a charming, quirky way), and chaos seems to follow him wherever he goes, but he keeps his thoughts nice and organised (or as organised as thoughts can be). Putting everything into neat little boxes in his brain is easier with a kid. It’s one of the only things in life that has become easier for him, since Rosie was born. With Rosie (especially when she wakes up at 3am and screams), he’s too tired to think about things too much. And thinking is never a good idea. And it’s not a thing that he’s very good at either, he’s neither been the brightest button in the box, or whatever the saying is. He isn’t stupid or anything, he’s just not very smart, not in the right way at least. (Kath gets upset when he says stuff like that, but only because she knows it’s true). Race always jokes that he can smell smoke when Jack Kelly starts thinking. Jack can smell smoke too, but the problem is that he doesn’t just smell it. The burns on his thighs start to ache, and the smoky smell starts to choke him, and he can’t be as light and airy and carefree as he needs to be, with all that tar left over in his lungs. So compartmentalising is essential, if he wants to stay afloat. (Although with no house and no job, staying afloat is shaping up to be harder than anticipated).

It’s easier to think of himself as cursed because his washing machine’s broken, than to think of himself as cursed because of _certain events_ in his past, that have shaped him (for better or for worse) more than he would like to admit. It’s easier to be cursed with inconvenience and annoyance, than to be cursed with the shit and the shame that he’s been through.

And unfortunately, while they’re watching ‘The Greatest Showman’ for the 50th time, and Rosie is sitting there, frozen, eyes transfixed on the screen, full of joy and wonder, as if she’s never seen the singing and the dancing and the prancing before, he can’t help his mind from running.

He knows that his friends are worried about him, especially now that he’s jobless and nearly homeless. He sees the pity in their eyes sometimes, hears the shudder in their voices when they offer to take Rosie for the night, offer to buy some groceries for him, offer to let him stay with them for a bit. He hates it.

He hates when they act like he’s some sort of crip (is he allowed to say that word?), some sort of less than, some sort of charity case. He hates when the parents at the school gate act like he’s incompetent, but he brushes it off, because they don’t know him, not really. The problem arises when his own friends, when the people he loves and trusts, treat him like he doesn’t know how to be a proper parent. Because he does. He tries so hard that it hurts. And okay, he’s not doing amazingly, evidenced by the lateness and the sloppiness and the money-less-ness, but at least he’s there, (which is more than can be said for his own parents).

Kath has told him more than once that he has an ‘independence complex’, linked to his ‘toxic masculinity’. She tells him that it’s stupid and prideful that he won’t accept the help that he’s offered And no, Kath’s not mean, not exactly, she’s just very blunt. (Jack simultaneously loves and hates that about her). But the fact is that she just doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand that you can’t get by on the grace of others, because one day that grace will run out, and you’ll be left to pick up the pieces.   
Like what if he accepted their help, and let them buy him groceries, and clothes, and house supplies, and he got too comfortable, and forgot to budget it in (as if he knows how to make a budget anyway), and then one month they decided not to buy anything, and him and Rosie starved to death? Like what if he accepted their help, moved in with Race for a bit, and then he got too comfortable and Race got sick of him and he didn’t have a backup option, and then he’d be on the streets, just like that? Like what if he accepted their help, took a job that Kath recommended him for, and then got fired without notice, because of some petty family drama, and then suddenly has no pay check and no backup plan to fill in the blanks? (That last one is more than a little aimed. Not that he has anyone to blame for his current predicament but himself. He should’ve known better).

It’s rare that people do nice things without expecting anything in return. And even though he knows that they’re his friends, and friends do nice things for each other, friends help each other (Jack _is_ used to having friends, it’s been enough years by now that he gets it), he can’t help but still despise accepting any version of help (it’s pretty much a Kelly family tradition).   
He doesn’t need help because he’s a big boy (emphasis on the ‘big’ there Kath, not the ‘boy’), and parents are supposed to at least marginally have it together, and be at least a little bit self-reliant.

And if he distracts himself from the lump in his throat and the stinging feeling behind his eyes, by singing and dancing along to one of the songs, tossing Rosie up in the air like she’s the one on the trapeze, then that’s no one’s business but his own.   
It’s not that men don’t cry, it’s that Jack Kelly doesn’t cry. It’s entirely different.

And then Rosie touches his face, stroking down his cheeks with her tiny fingers.

“Why’re you sad Da?”  
Fuck. He hates that she’s able to read him, able to see through his carefree façade. He’s meant to be big and strong, and protect her, not be a pathetic blubbering mess that she has to feel bad about.

“Sad?! How could I’s be sad wiv you around?”

“You looks sad”

She pouts at that, as if him being sad makes her sad by association. He’s not really sure what to say to that, because Jack Kelly is all bluster (all bark and no bite), and if his hollow words and placations don’t work, he doesn’t really know where to go from there, even when he’s speaking to his own freaking kid. For gods sake, he’s supposed to teach her about emotions and communication and all of that shit.

Luckily his phone choses that exact moment to ring.   
He glances down at the screen. It’s not a number he has saved (lest his friends stumble across it if they snoop through his phone), but it’s one that he recognises.   
He pauses the movie, shushing Rosie softly before he picks up.   
After all, these calls are too important to miss.

The next evening Kath comes over, and immediately sits down, kicking her feet up onto the sofa. She complains about his ‘no shoes in the house’ rule all the time, probably because of the strange coloured patches on the carpet (from the last tenant, NOT from him), but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s not going to apologise for being civilised, and besides, it’s his house (for the next few days at least), his rules.

And then it’s as if she can read his mind.   
“Have you found a place yet?”

“Nah, not one that costs right and that’s tha right distance from Ro’s school.”

And he is not moving her. Despite the strange number of snobs at the school gate, being a new kid really sucks (even for someone as charming and lovable as Jack (hah)), and he’s not going to put his kid through that if he can help it.

“And a job…?”

“Jeez Kath, lay off will ya? I’s got an interview tomorrow, and I’m waiting for a few calls”

“That’s good Jack, that’s really good.”

“No need ta be condescending”  
He’s only halfway joking. He has to take a few deep breaths to calm down and remind himself that she’s one of his closest friends, and she’s just trying to help, and he’s the one being all leery about it.

“I’m not! I mean it. I’m really sorry about my father”

“Eh.” He waves a hand as if to say ‘it’s nothing at all’.

“I mean it Jackie. I really am sorry.”

“S’fine Kath. He’s a prick anyway!”

“I’ll drink to that!”

And then he has to shush her, because if Rosie wakes up now and then again at 3am, then there’s no way that she’s getting to school, and then there’s no way that he’s getting to this interview, and then there’s no way that he can afford any of the non-existent flats that he’s thus far failed to find.

“Hey Jackie…”  
He gets very nervous when she says it like that. She either wants him to do something, or she wants to do something for him (and he doesn’t know which one is worse). Oh well, two can play at that game.

“Yeh Kathie…”

“Did you think about what I said, you know with the whole flat thing?”

“I already said. I don’t need no help, I still have three and a half days, that’s loads of time”  
It’s not and they both know it.

“What about David?”

“Kath, for tha last time, I don’t need no help, not from you, or some random do-gooder. I’s fine.”

“But Jaaaack”, she practically whines, “he’s really lonely…”

He loves Kath, he really does, she’s like the sister he never had, but holy shit if her guilt tripping doesn’t get on his nerves sometimes. It’s not that he doesn’t have empathy, it’s just that his hatred of being manipulated and told what to do outweighs all of that mushy bullshit.

“Okay? What does tha have to do with me?”

“He really needs a roommate, like emotionally, and you need one financially.”  
He does. He really does. She’s right. She’s right. Of course she’s right. She’s almost always right.

“I’s not moving me and Rosie in wiv some middle aged loner”

“He’s like twenty seven…” She interjects.

“Has you’s never seen a crime documentary? I’s not about to have my skin cut off and worn as a suit.”  
He misses out the next thing he was going to say, some choice words about exactly what kind of older single guy would just love to have a five year old around.   
Kath wrinkles her nose, electing to brush over the whole ‘skin suit’ thing (probably a wise decision).

“You wouldn’t have to if you’d just accept our help”  
There’s a little more annoyance and upset in her voice than Jack was expecting. If him rejecting their offers annoys them as much as their offers annoy him in the first place, they could always just stop (and who says Jack Kelly doesn’t have good ideas?)

He feels his jaw tighten slightly. “Tell me about him one more time.”

There’s nothing she could possibly say to change his mind.   
“He’s called David, he works with me, he’s an incredible writer, maybe even better than I am. He’s smart and I think he’s quite funny, but he’s also really quiet, and I don’t think he really has any friends.”

It’s not _what_ she’s saying, because he really doesn’t give a shit. It’s how she’s saying it. She sounds so happy and hopeful that it’s almost fucking ridiculous. And it makes him wonder if it would really be so awful to just accept the offer. It couldn’t be _that_ bad (it could). He knows that he’s pretty tough looking, and he has a reasonably effective ‘creep detection’ instinct (plus, Kath wouldn’t be friends with some weird pervert), and it would take the edge off missing out on half a week’s wages. For gods sake. He’s always been a bit of a people pleaser. Even when he’s being a prick, his intention is never to be despised. She just sounds so hopeful. And he doesn’t want to crush that. Would it be so bad to throw her a bone? (By letting her throw him a bone).

His mouth moves before he’s fully processed it. “Fine.”

“Wait, really?”

“I said so didn’t I?”

“Yeah! Yeah you did!”   
She’s so happy and bright and airy, with this massive smile on her face. It makes him feel very strange inside.

It’s not like he’s properly relying on others. The way Kath said it, he’s almost doing the other guy a favour. (That’s Jack Kelly alright! Charitable through and through).   
It’ll be alright.   
Kath wouldn’t deliberately put him into a bad situation (not when Jack is perfectly capable of finding his way into them all by himself).   
Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot write the accent for the life of me but I have decided to freestyle it!
> 
> Anyways,... please comment and let me know what you think!!

**Author's Note:**

> I need to stop starting new stories I just can't help myself!
> 
> Let me know what you think!


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